Maid For The Lycan King

I woke up choking on ash and screams.

My body lurched upright before my brain caught up. Sweat soaked my shirt, hair stuck to my neck, heart slamming like I'd run for miles. But I wasn't running. I was in a bed. Thin mattress. Threadbare blanket. Peeling paint overhead. Safe, technically. Though safe doesn't mean much when your nightmares keep dragging you back to the same fire.

Same faces. Same screams.

I rubbed my face hard, trying to erase the ghosts clinging to me. But my hands still shook. My chest still ached.

In the dream, I was eight again. Hiding under the stairs, the smell of blood sharp in the air. My mother's pendant clenched in my fist. My father's last roar echoing in my ears. And then silence. Not the quiet kind. The kind that presses down, heavy and wrong. The kind that meant they weren't getting up.

I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. Cold floor. Cracked tiles. My toes curled. For a second, I let myself stare out the busted window across the alley. Rain tapped the glass like impatient fingers.

It had been twelve years. Twelve years since the Blackfang Pack buried my parents in lies and whispered the word "traitors" loud enough to rot my name with it.

Twelve years since I became the girl they forgot.

Not forgotten like lost. Forgotten like erased. Like if they ignored me hard enough, I'd stop existing. Some days, I thought it worked.

I stood, knees stiff from another night twisted in sleep. My back ached. Too many bruises from training with wolves who thought throwing punches was a good bonding exercise. I didn't flinch anymore when they aimed for the ribs. That had to count for something, right?

The pack house was quiet. Too quiet. That meant I was already late.

I yanked on jeans, a sweater two sizes too big, and stuffed my feet into scuffed boots. The mirror above the sink caught my reflection as I passed.

Plain. That was the goal.

Messy dark hair. Pale skin. Big eyes that didn't meet anyone else's. Nothing that screamed Look at me.

I didn't want attention. Not the kind I got here.

Outside, the rain had turned to mist. I kept my head down as I walked the gravel path toward the mess hall. A pair of betas lounging by the door fell silent as I passed. One snorted. The other muttered something about "wolfless waste." I didn't break stride. Didn't look. Just kept walking like I hadn't heard.

Because if I looked up, I'd have to care.

And caring meant breaking. Again.

The kitchen reeked of eggs and burned toast. I grabbed an apple off the counter, ignoring the sharp gaze of Marla, the head cook. She didn't bother hiding her sneer.

"You missed prep," she said.

I nodded, biting into the apple. Swallowed. "Won't happen again."

It would. We both knew it. My body didn't obey alarms when the past clawed me under every night.

Marla turned away with a humph. I slipped out before she could assign me to dishes.

Back outside, the air felt sharp. The wind cut through my sweater. My boots squelched through wet dirt as I headed for the tree line. I needed air. Space. Something not laced with the scent of wolves who wished I'd stayed gone.

A movement to my left caught my eye.

Milo.

The only wolf who didn't treat me like a stain on the floor. Tall, lanky, with a crooked grin and a perpetual bruise on his jaw from picking the wrong fights. He jogged up beside me, tossing a twig between his hands.

"You look like hell," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks."

"Nightmare again?"

I nodded once.

He didn't ask more. That's why I tolerated him. Milo had the good sense to let silence breathe.

We reached the edge of the forest and stopped. Mist curled between the trees, soft and slow.

"You coming to the Ceremony tonight?" he asked.

I laughed, low and humorless. "To watch people find their mates while I stand in the back like a forgotten broom? Sounds fun."

He nudged my shoulder. "You never know. Maybe the Moon Goddess will throw you a bone."

I looked at him, really looked. "You believe in that stuff? Fated mates and moon magic?"

He shrugged. "I believe some of us get lucky. The rest get Kade."

The name made my stomach flip.

Alpha Kade. Blackfang's golden boy. Cruel mouth, sharper claws. He led training like it was war prep, laughed when someone cried, and looked at me like I was something he forgot to scrape off his boot.